The String

The story I’m about to tell you must remain a secret. I beg you, please don’t tell anyone. You will disrupt the order. Everyone has their own truth and we need to leave it that way.

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I am a ballerina. Or rather, I was a ballerina until a few seconds ago. Now, I’m somewhere else. There’s nothing—just an empty space, infinity. I turn around, but the feeling is strange when there’s no perspective, nothing around me. Nobody appears. Actually, they don’t appear, I just know they’re there.

“You guessed right. I am Nobody. But this isn’t somewhere, it’s Nowhere. That’s because there’s nothing.”

“What happened?” I asked, expecting fear or confusion, but instead, I realized I felt nothing.

“What do you remember?” Nobody asked.

“I was leaving the theater after rehearsal… My friend’s shoelace broke, so I waited for her. Then… nothing. That’s all.”

Nobody said I had left the world of the living.

“But why? What did I do wrong? Why me?” I kept asking questions, trying to understand, but Nobody interrupted me.

“You humans always seek meaning in everything. That’s why we introduced a rule around here, that you have the right, if you wish, to see what really happened. Do you want to?”

“Of course, I do,” I replied indifferently. “I didn’t deserve this.”

“Ah, there you go again. Shall we take a look?”

“Sure,” I said, knowing that when seeing my departure, Nobody would understand it was a mistake. “Go ahead.”

---

At about 3 a.m., the Taxi Driver quietly slipped out of bed, careful not to wake his wife, and kissed her on the hair. He went into the other room, smiled as he looked at his nine-year-old son, and kissed him too. He drank a couple of sips of cold coffee, picked up his jacket from the chair, and left for work. You make more money at night, but you need nerves of steel and sharp focus to ignore all the crazies if you want to stay sane. Never happy, always tired, but sane. The Taxi Driver often imagined he was driving a circus. It made him laugh inside and somehow made the job easier. That night was like any other—couples arguing, boys doing drugs, beautiful girls whose laughter and tears made them look like the band Kiss, fare dodgers, those who threatened, those who left huge tips… A circus. By 11 a.m., the Taxi Driver was finishing his shift, exhausted from human stupidity, and took a break for coffee.

---

“What is this? I don’t know this man. I didn’t do anything to him. His circus can’t be the reason…” I said, contemplating.

“The circus isn’t. The coffee break is.”

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s fine. Let’s move on.”

---

Marriages of convenience are extremely popular. At 36, having made peace with the fact that she wouldn’t find love, the Lady married a gay man. He needed a cover, and she needed company. It seemed like a great deal. But now, a few years later, she realized he hadn’t kept his end of the bargain. At night, he was always with another man, and during the day, he worked. She was alone. At 42, sitting alone the night before, she realized she had accepted for too long far less than she deserved. That night, she decided to end this fake life, sent her husband a message: “We need to talk,” and went to sleep. Sleep didn’t come easily, but makeup works wonders. Dressed up, as always, she hurried out of the apartment the next morning, forgetting her coat in the rush. When she went back for it, her phone rang. She was nervous, knowing it was her husband, but she answered and arranged a lunch meeting. In the meantime, the taxi she had called left, so she hailed the next one that stopped. It was the Taxi Driver we’ve already seen.

---

“Wait! I know her! She’s a producer in our ballet company. A cold bitch, to be sure, but I never had any issues with her. People are who they are. Why should I be punished because of her? And what is this joke with the Taxi Driver? The two of them in the car together—what does that have to do with the reason?”

Nobody simply said: “It doesn’t. But the coat, the phone call, and the alarm do.”

“What alarm?”

---

Since his wife’s death, the Employee, 62, lived alone. They hadn’t had children, and the thought of adopting a dog or cat scared him. On the one hand, he found people who post countless pictures of their pets ridiculous, but on the other, he always thought about those stories of lonely people who die and are found seven days later, partially eaten by their pets. “No thanks,” he thought. He couldn’t handle loneliness. Although everything seemed to function normally, loneliness was slowly eating away at his life. He created a schedule for himself. Always the same breakfast, always at the same time, preparing the same sandwich for his lunch break, showering after work, dedicating some time to Dostoevsky, setting the alarm for the morning, and going to bed at the same time every night. Loneliness devoured him.

---

“Wait, wait, wait. Another pointless story about a man I’ve never met. I think that’s enough. I keep expecting to see ‘why me,’ and instead, I’m watching stories about people who have nothing to do with me.”

“So, you’re not interested in the reason anymore? We can stop.”

“Of course, I am, but so far, I haven’t seen a single one.”

I still felt indifferent instead of, say, frustrated. That’s how it is when you’re Nowhere.

“You’re not paying attention. You’ve already seen three reasons. But, like every human being, you’re overwhelmed by yourself and your ego. Do you want to keep watching?”

---

He followed all his routines the previous evening, except that night, loneliness crept up his spine and forced him to remember all the beautiful moments he spent with his wife, the sadness he felt without her, and the futility of such a life. It was worse than Dostoevsky, and exhausted by his thoughts, he fell asleep in the armchair and forgot to set the alarm for the morning. He woke up at a similar time, out of habit, but late enough to miss work. He skipped a few more routines, no shower, no breakfast, no sandwich, and ran out like a madman, so frantic that he didn’t notice the red light at the pedestrian crossing. The Taxi Driver and the Lady in the car luckily braked just in time to avoid hitting him.

---

“Does it make any sense to you now?” Nobody asked.

I chose to remain silent and let them continue showing me. Nobody didn’t smile.

---

“First love is never forgotten,” echoed in the SalesLady’s mind as she stared out the shop window, swollen with tears, completely useless for work today. The truth is, her first love happened when she was 33, but that only raised the stakes. They had lived together for two years, planned to marry and have a family, dreamed of growing old together, and then, last night, coming home early from work, excited to have more time to watch him play video games with his belly out, she found her sister and him in their bed, in their sheets, in their apartment, making love, splashing each other with brandy. In an instant, she began to scream, cry, and ran out of the apartment.

---

“Yes, she’s screaming and crying, and I’m indifferently searching for the reason for my death in Nowhere. Makes perfect sense. Continue, continue!”

Nobody continued.

---

She spent the night crying in her grandmother’s empty house, in complete darkness. The next morning, she showed up to work in yesterday’s clothes. Only when she heard the bell at the shop door and saw the Lady in a hurry did she remember that she was supposed to have packed a ballet costume, but the tragic event had made her completely forget about it. Suddenly, she rushed around the store, apologizing a hundred times, none of which the Lady heard while delivering her monologue. The SalesLady efficiently packed the dress without wasting a second, but as the Lady left, she told her to prepare for being fired, and then returned to the taxi. The SalesLady began to cry again.

---

“What nonsense is this? You told me I’d see the reason for my death, and instead, I’m watching some Turkish soap operas. What does this poor SalesLady’s breakup have to do with my absence?”

Nobody laughed and said: “Not the breakup, but the package.”

---

The Trucker slapped his wife a few more times that morning.

---

“Stop, stop, stop! I don’t want to watch stories like this.”

Nobody didn’t look at me.

---

He called her names, as usual—cow, good-for-nothing, criticized her appearance, spat in the breakfast he found disgusting, and slammed the door on his way out to work.

---

“Oh my God, are there worse people than this?” I said to Nobody.

---

He got into his truck, which he used to deliver water bottles to companies.

---

“Wait, I know him too!” I said indifferently excited. “He delivers water bottles to our studio too.”

---

Driving towards the theater, while folk music blared in his cabin, he caused a traffic jam. Behind him, the Taxi Driver and the Lady waited in their car.

---

“Did that pig hit me?” I asked.

Nobody remained silent.

---

The truck moved. One ballerina was tying her shoelace, while the other waited.

---

“Finally, there I am! But what happened? Did my friend push me under the truck?”

“You humans, it's always someone else's fault for you." said Nobody.

“Well, I didn’t throw myself under it. Someone has to be blamed.”

---

The Friend tied her shoelace, and after that, the Ballerina turned and stepped under the taxi.

---

I stood Nowhere with my mouth open. “Do you understand now?” Nobody asked. “A series of random events led to this outcome.”

“No, no, no, no. Are you telling me that my death is because of an alarm, a coat, a package, shoelaces…? No, no, no. It doesn’t work like that. They’re all guilty.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“Of course I am. If just one of them had acted differently, I’d still be alive.”

“If that’s what you believe. You have the option here to punish them or forgive them. Would you like to take that chance?”

Instead of boiling with rage, I said indifferently, “Yes. Gather them all in the ballet studio.”

“They’re already there. The Lady brought the costume with the Taxi Driver’s help. The Trucker is changing the water bottle. The Friend returned to the studio to avoid seeing you carried away. The Employee brought the poster for your premiere. And the SalesLady’s sister works at the ticket booth. She’s come to face her and is waiting in the studio.”

“And now, in my honor, the killers will perform my favorite dance, “Danse Macabre”, until they too fall dead.”

---

Six seemingly unrelated people stood in the ballet studio. The Lady ordered the Taxi Driver to stay with her until the police arrived. The Friend, crying and shaking, asked him what he was looking at. The Taxi Driver replied that it wasn’t his fault, that a truck had blocked his view. The Trucker then lunged at the Taxi Driver, shouting that he had nothing to do with it. Suddenly, the SalesLady addressed the Lady: “But you were late here because of my package…”

“What are you implying, you fool?” The discomfort in the Lady’s tone was obvious. The SalesLady started crying again, saying, “If I had packed the package on time, you wouldn’t have had to wait, the Taxi Driver would have passed the Ballerina, and she’d still be alive.”

“Nonsense! If I hadn’t forgotten my coat and answered the phone, I would have caught the previous taxi. Don’t talk rubbish!” The Taxi Driver, still in shock, mumbled, “I just wanted a cup of coffee…” to which the Trucker lunged at him again, shouting, “And I’m to blame for causing traffic?”

The Employee, deep in thought, said, “My alarm didn’t go off this morning. I was late for work. Was it you that almost killed me while I was running across the street on a red light??” He asked the Taxi Driver, confused and frightened. A terrible silence followed, which was broken by the Friend’s crying scream: “Shoelace!”

Suddenly, they all began shouting—some at each other, some at themselves, some crying, others justifying.

---

 “Now.”

---

In that moment, their bodies started making uncontrollable movements, their legs moving on their own, starting a dance that would lead them to their end. They spun around, then in circles, bending, rising, crawling, jumping, only able to alternately scream, out of control, words like “Coffee… coat… phone… alarm… breakup… traffic jam… shoelace…”

---

“Are you sure they deserved this?” Nobody asked.

“I don’t enjoy watching this, but I can’t accept that life and death are just a series of random events. There must be a meaning.” If I could, I would have cried.

---

The six strangers were now writhing in pain, falling, rising, colliding, tripping over themselves.

---

Nobody took my hand and said, “There is no meaning. You humans invented that. It makes things easier for you I guess. Everything is just a series of intertwined lives and events beyond anyone’s control. Think about it. While the Taxi Driver was taking a coffee break, you were in rehearsal. While the Lady was on the phone, you were still practicing. While the Employee was running across the street and the SalesLady was packing the package, you were showering. While the Trucker caused the traffic jam, you were getting dressed. While you waited for your Friend, the Taxi Driver started off.”

---

They were all lying on the floor, struggling for their last breath.

---

“If You had done just one thing differently, wouldn’t you still be alive?” “Stop the dance,” I said, if I could, disappointed.

Nobody was right. Maybe we need meaning in life, but Nowhere and with Nobody, it certainly doesn’t exist.

I am a ballerina. Or rather, I was a ballerina, until I, *accidentally* died.

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Inspired by a monologue from a movie The Curious case of Benjamin Button